Tales from the Story
by Jubalii
Summary: A hundred 100-word tales about a ginger knight and that one woman who sneered a lot, in neat installments of ten at a time. Rated M for a few risque pieces.


**Author's Note:** 100 word fics. 100 prompts in installments of ten. Let's do it.

* * *

 **Red lipstick**

Women in Labyrinthia didn't wear many cosmetics often; not counting Rouge, who did as she pleased. So when Eve showed up to the office with dark red lipstick, his mind was frozen in shock.

"M-miss Eve! Your lips…they…" He was unable to talk, brain malfunctioning as he stared at the gentle curves of her mouth. She only smiled and moved to sit at her desk, leaving him gaping like a fool. He turned back to his work with a blush, trying to ignore the sight before him. There was something very… arousing about it, but he didn't _dare_ notice that.

* * *

 **Refusal**

"You're only making this harder on yourself." He pressed her firmly into the wall, watching in blasé amusement as she fought. She wasstrong; all the women of the town were. But _he_ was all sword practice and weightlifting; between the two, he was the stronger. "Just say you concede, Eve."

"That's Miss Belduke to you!" she spat angrily, attempting to wrench her wrists from his grasp. "I'll never surrender; not to you." He rolled his eyes in answer; did they really have to do this every time they had to who would sleep on what side of the bed?

* * *

 **Perfect**

She was perfect. Everything about her was exquisite and gorgeous and unflawed, from her long, dark curls to her slender form. Even the tips of her toenails were uniform, neatly rounded. Her style was practical, her demeanor calm, her laughter tinkling.

He wondered if her skin was soft to the touch, if her curves were really as pliant as they looked, if her hair was as silky as it seemed. She was a goddess, Aphrodite incarnate sitting across the room at her desk. Now, he just had to make her realize that he was the perfect one for her, too.

* * *

 **Notebook**

He'd always been good with drawing. He liked doodling Constantines on the pages, but lately his talents had been focused on a certain ex-High Inquisitor. The more he drew, the more he strove to hide his work from her. Still, the fateful day came where she grabbed the notebook before he could hide it, flipping through the pages before eyeing him with a cryptic frown.

"I'm afraid I looking nothing like that unclothed." She began to walk away, and his mind jumped with a reply before he could think better of it.

"If you pose, I'll make it over better."

* * *

 **Rhyme**

He couldn't rhyme to save his life. That's what it looked like, at least. Eve read the entire sheet of paper over again, frowning as she glared at the obvious mistakes. What was this even supposed to be? A sonnet? A long string of connected haikus? Freeform? He should have gotten Bardly to write it for him; then it would have made more sense. Still… the more she thought about it, the harder she blushed. Only he could write something so asinine as that farce of a love poem; and only he could make her still feel complimented by it.

* * *

 **Mirror**

She didn't like looking in the mirror, because three women stared back at her. There was the Great Witch in all her chilling splendor, the icy-hearted High Inquisitor Darklaw with the merciless expression that all witches feared, and then there was Eve Belduke, too shy to do much more than hide her permanently crimson cheeks behind her hands.

She told him once, when he asked why she always frowned when she looked in the mirror. He'd listened and then shrugged.

"Doesn't matter to me. I love all three of you as you are, so smile."

 _Idiot_ , she thought, blushing again.

* * *

 **Control**

It surprised her every time she fell under his control, because it was always different. One time it would be his calloused fingers running over the flat plane of her stomach, another time it would be his searing kiss, and yet another would be his voice moaning her name in a pleading whisper. It was as if he had a magic all his own, one that didn't require the help of expensive tricks and spare hands. It was a spell he cast time and time again, one that left her trembling and sweaty and exhausted.

Oh, did she love it.

* * *

 **Silk Scarf**

It was her who had given Constantine his silken scarf, the one the pup so proudly wore. She had seen his casual clothing and her eyes had brightened with an idea. After making him wait, she'd come back with a small scrap of cloth that matched his clothes, bending down and winding it around Constantine's neck before he could protest. It had worked well, but she'd shrugged away his thanks.

"It's fine," she said, cheeks tinged pink. "After all, I must say that I've grown fond of the mutt." She turned away, but he swore he heard "…and his owner."

* * *

 **Puppy Love**

The mutt had found some girl puppy to hang out with, leaving Eve-the-cat to sleep the day away in the rafters of the bakery. Espella had lamented the cat's loss, but Eve thought that if the cat really was anything like her, she'd probably be happier as a loner. Yet…. Her eyes flitted to the bakery's resident knight/baker's apprentice, who was busy pounding the life out of the dough as usual. He looked up and grinned at her with a goofy expression, eyes shining not unlike his 'faithful companion'.

She scoffed and turned away: it was just puppy love, really.

* * *

 **Chills**

She kept telling herself that it was the cold, chilling her to the point of shivering. The Courthouse wasn't heated (unless you counted the large fire that used to…well, burn witches) and her office was so cold! She wore the armor to protect her bare skin from the chill, as well as for decorum and ceremonial reasons. But it was strange; she even shivered in the summer. Perhaps the old saying was true: geese over graves, right?

She did, of course, tactfully ignore the fact that the shivering only happened whenever a part of Sir Barnham's body brushed hers accidentally.


End file.
